Strange Motives
by Come like shadows
Summary: After Batman is shot, the Joker becomes strangely protective of him. Does Bruce really want to find out why? slash
1. Chapter 1

The Joker was going to start a war.

Bruce took the report with no seriousness. News stations all over the globe were talking about the war-like brutality and mayhem going on in Gotham. Its citizens didn't admit it though, they were desensitized. Death had become a part of everyday life. But this was the only time that the Joker gave the news _himself_.

The TV Joker grinned the colors were off too pale and washed-out, like a cheap production of an old masterpiece, but he would make up for it in _character_. "Greetings Comrades. I believe all of you have noticed the lack of…" His eyes rolled in his sockets as he searched for the right words. "_Fun_, I've been having lately." All of his plans were bare bones. If you're hungry steal some food. If you're feeling bad kill a priest. If you're feeling vengeful kill your father. "This is because of the GCPD's _wonderful_ plan to boost Batman up to enemy number one. And in doing so, I can't even get a _glimpse_ of my poor honey without him being _**shot at**_ by one of the boys in blue." He was still smiling but his eyes had filled with their own internal flame. His voice lost its mocking tone. It reminded many of the Narrows, clutching the Mace in your pocket but too scared to turn around and see if you're actually being followed.

"**Stop trying to kill **_**my **_**Bat or I will level every police station in the entire city.**" The camera zoomed in, filling the screen with dark-rimmed eyes. "**This is your only warning.**" The screen cut to black.

Bruce shut off the TV before a reporter could have a chance to get back on and fry his brain with inept observations. He tried to leaned back into the pillows, winced and adjusted the bandages spanning his chest. He had been shot only one night previous.

He stretched his aching body and snagged his laptop off of the side table. He opened it and started going over all of the old files on the Joker. Finger-prints, dental and previously used alias'. The false light illuminated every shadow under his eyes and the harsh lines made by him frowning. Why would the Joker start a war to protect Batman? He would read long into the night.

* * *

He had been hounding Fox for a new suit that would make flight easier. Being able to sustain flight for longer periods of time would increase his stealthiness ten-fold and give him the option of simply jumping off a building if cornered. Coming short of _"just attaching a propeller to the damn thing" _Fox gave the billionaire only one option.

Make the suit lighter. Again.

The thickness of the Kevlar and titanium mesh had been decreased, lowering the suits weight two pounds. As a side effect he would be very susceptible to gun fire, especially in the chest and abdomen. Fox also mentioned something about going on a diet.

(Testing the new suit involved breaking into Wayne Tower in the middle of the night, running all security cameras on a tight loop and knocking one overly-curious guard unconscious. But it worked.)

* * *

He found one possible reason in one of the many psychiatric evaluations given at Arkham. _"The Joker shows a great obsession with the vigilante known as Batman. Both have an on going personal conflict, but his interest goes past rivalry. He says that the Batman __**"completes him"**__, despite whatever that alludes to, it clearly shows the other man as a type of role-model to the patient. __**(Note: This could be a mutated form of Stockholm Syndrome in which one reciprocal abuser becomes attached to the other.) **_

* * *

Batman soared over Gotham, grimly looking for any signs of a commotion. Until the Tumbler was redesigned and a new model made, this would be his only mode of transportation aside from the Batpod. The late hour had leant Gotham a false silence. From his height the city almost looked peaceful.

Florescent lights and signs winked back at him, a reflection of the stars above.

The report of a gun shot sliced through the air and was picked up by the receivers he had inserted into his _"devil horns"_. He quickly located the source of the shot, a dead-end alley way, and adjusted his course. He landed silently on a parallel roof top.

A police officer was cornered and out numbered, bleeding and clutching his left arm. Batman thought it could have come from the baseball bat that one of the three perpetrators was toting.

He dropped down into the shadows and the moment he landed, he became a flurry of movement. Like a dark tornado he broke noses and cracked ribs, never giving them a chance to fight back. The police officer wedged himself into the farthest corner of the alleyway and slowly sunk to the ground.

Batman grouped the gang of three into a pile and tethered them foot to foot and hand to hand, he wound the wire in between their chests and tied it. They wouldn't be able to get up easily.

* * *

Bruce closed the laptop and rubbed his eyes irritably. He hadn't found anything that would give him a clear cut answer. He might as well wait until the next dusk, hunt down the Joker and ask the madman himself. The nudged the laptop to where it was least likely to be crushed by his sleeping body and closed his eyes.

* * *

Batman approached the fallen officer, all attempts of stealth gone. He had to find his radio and call out for help. Then hope that the ambulance would be able to get to the man fast enough. His eyes were open to the barest of slits and the hand that held his gun trembled. **"IT'S ALRIGHT. I'M GOING TO CALL FOR BASE TO SEND AN AMBULANCE. WHERE'S YOUR RADIO?" **The question was used to keep his mind occupied, away from the pain of his broken arm. The vigilante could see blood-streaked bone poking through the stained fabric of his blues.

He reached for the radio that was clipped to the man's belt. The officer twitched and raised his right shoulder if to roll over. Batman steadied him, one hand on the radio. He felt the muzzle of the gun against his chest plate even before the shots ripped though him.

Blood splattered the wall behind them, the impressionistic painting of a disturbed child. Pain lanced through his chest as he backed away from the fallen man. He could feel the pain begin to move, rising and falling like a demented wave every time he tried to draw a breath.

He could taste metal on his tongue.

* * *

The balcony door was opened in a fashion completely unlike the intruder. The lock was picked after several moments of low cursing and angry growls. The man entered and closed the door again after him, taking special care not to lock it. Just in case he needed to make a quick escape.

He approached the bed, grinning down at the shrouded sleeping figure with glee. Leaving his shoes on, would Batsy really care if he left mud stains on his clean white sheets when he could leave so much worse? He crawled up the length of the bed and stood on his knees next to his prize.

The Joker giggled, the one hand that wasn't covering his mouth preventing the laughter from spilling out flailing and twitching. He glided his hand down one side of the billionaire's smooth face watching intently as he frowned in his sleep and tried to turn away. He propped both hands on either side of Bruce's face and in one smooth motion straddled him.

Bruce's eyes flew open immediately and he tried to push the Joker off of him. It caused several muscles to scream in protest.

The Joker shook his head. "No Brucie, that's not how we play." His thumb found one carefully sewn wound, when the other man still tried to struggle he pushed down _hard_. Blood swelled out and slid down the smooth expanse of skin, staining the sheets.

Bruce gritted his teeth and tried to lay still. Being shot three times point blank in the chest didn't leave anyone willing to put up a fight afterwards.

The Joker smiled at Bruce's cooperation. He brought the bloody digit up to his mouth and licked it leisurely, like a cat. "Will you behave?" He didn't wait for an answer. "When I heard about your _clash with the law_ I had to come down and see for myself. Poor Batsy and you were only trying to _help. __**This is exactly what I told you about. They'll turn on you like wolves and cannibalize you to quell their foolish fears**_. That cop actually thought you were going to kill him, can you believe that?"

"**WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"**

The Joker carded one pale hand through Bruce's hair. "Isn't it obvious?You can't hold your own against them. Not when they're out for blood. So I'll watch you and when they're about to close in on you," He stopped to stare silently at the other man, a strange look growing in his eyes. He surprised the vigilante completely by leaning down to kiss him.

Bruce redoubled his effort to push him off the moment those wide lips pressed against his own. A slick tongue swiped across his lips, forcing a blush. He sought out the Joker's shoulder and tried to force his thumb against the delicate collarbone. If he could break it, there was a greater chance he would get away.

The Joker sighed, his hot breath wafting across Bruce's face and forced his other hand between them. It closed around his neck, squeezing tight. Bruce's other free hand went to the one around his neck, clawing. He still didn't stop his attempt to break bone.

He kissed the man beneath him as he slowly suffocated, his eyes going dark and glassy.

"I'll slaughter them, just for you."


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke, the first thing he became aware of was the sound of his breathing. It wasn't unlike the patient of an emergency tracheotomy. Reedy, like breathing through a tube.

Bruce pushed himself off of the bed, ignoring the mud tracks that Alfred would probably work himself into a tizzy over, and scuffled into the connected bathroom. He held one hand to his neck, testing the amount of swollen flesh and grimaced. An eggplant collar around his neck, punctuated by the deep red of burst blood vessels where the Jokers thumb found a firm grip.

_Dreams, night-terrors, about a monster. A wicked wraith recognizable only by the deaths pallor tint of his skin and his wide mouth, filled with teeth to rip and shred. He was… __**attacked**__, the wraith on him and biting the junction of shoulder and neck. He tried to push him away with weak arms screaming, __**moaning**__, spine arched in __**ecst-**_

His pulse rate rose, staring at the violent collar he watched the beat of blood beneath the discolored skin. The muscles in his arms clenched, despite the pain that it brought him, and he clenched his jaw so hard he could hear his teeth grind. The song of hundreds of angry men before him, who chose to bottle up their emotions and spend it in one magnificent and shining moment.

That moment would be when he found the Joker.

* * *

"Despite what the Joker wants, this _threat _of his isn't going to stall the hounds." Gordon stared pensively at the lithe figure through a cloud of shifting smoke. He took another drag on his cigarette. The fifth one since he'd seen the Joker's home video. "If anything, it's only antagonizing them."

Batman stood on the very corner of the GCPD roof, looking out over his city, staring like a dark God forced to balance out two evils, which he was. He listened to Gordon, but didn't respond.

"The Mayor is calling out for your blood. He wants to increase manpower, keep armed policemen on all roads twenty-four seven." The cigarette was past the filter now, but he kept smoking. At the rate he was going, he would need to buy another pack at the end of his shift. "They're considering bringing in SWAT." No response.

Gordon took a deep breath, threw the smoking remains of his cigarette to the ground where it curled, visible, like a ghost screaming to the sky. "He thinks you and the Joker are working together." The bomb was dropped, millions ran for cover fleeing the mushroom cloud as it chased them, spreading arms wide to encase them in a smothering embrace. He cut the cigarette's remaining life short, then ground his heel into it, just for good measure.

Ashes to ashes.

It wouldn't be correct to say that there was no response, instead there was a long silence that would be eventually be broken violently, splintering, shards of thought would lodge in the brains of both speakers and ferment for days. Probably years.

**"DO YOU THINK I'M WORKING WITH THE JOKER?"**

Gordon, who had been looking away from Batman, did a double take. "_What?_ You know I don't." Gordon wanted to reach for his pack and light up anew, but resisted. "You've given up the most for Gotham. You wouldn't hurt her by siding with a monster like the Joker."

Batman turned away from his view to pin down Gordon with a stare that he couldn't necessarily see, but felt. **"WHAT IF HE'S NOT THE ONLY MONSTER?"**

Gordon's mind stalled and for a moment buying a new pack of cigarettes was the last thing on his mind. "What are you implying?" This man wasn't a monster; he was Batman- Patron Saint of Hope, _but fear_ and New Beginnings, _but darkness_.

Batman looked away, the profile of his cowl illuminated by a rotating florescent sign. **"KEEP AN EYE OUT." **He was swallowed by the night and carried, hopefully, to where no wandering rookie may ever find him.

* * *

_The Long Walk_ was precisely the place that the Joker would crash, between escaping Arkham and nursing wounds inflicted by the Bat. Once, in the better more shining times of Gotham, it had been an amusement park. Large wooden tracks that rose to the sky like the dangerous curves of a beached sea monsters back. Wooden horses on multi-tiered carousels, smiling with open mouths and pink lolling tongues to children who never gripped the brass bar or took ten minutes to find their _favorite _horse.

A purple-gloved hand gripped the bar that was tarnished by hundreds of small hands; he sat on it solemnly, swinging his legs while the turbulent sea air rushed inland.

He was waiting for the bat.

Ever since their tête-à-tête, he had been feeling antsy. Prone to running in circles and jumping out of second floor windows just to get the crawling feeling out of his legs. _That_ and pensive, prone to sitting for long hours in cupboards and closets, _thinking_. About the feeling of leather wings clipping the side of your neck and strong hands pinning you against a wall, slowly choking with good use of a forearm.

He was _burning_.

He had men out on the streets, waiting to catch a glimpse of the bat or the quick burst of light signaling the beginning of a firefight. Their orders were not to bother the Bat, but kill anyone who got in his way. And not to retaliate if attacked by Batman.

The Bat had family now. Who while equally as disturbed as him, though perhaps in a different fashion, would kill for him. No one in his merry band of mischief makers objected, though the handful that did were quickly taken care of. Their bodies were hung on the gate leading into the park, the mouth of a smiling clown carrying the four who dared defy the word of their leader.

The searchlight of a passing helicopter pierced the night sky with heathenistic intent. To catch the Bat.

The Joker got up from the immobile horse and patted its flank. It was the only one on the whole ride without any legs. He admired it for that, defying normal conventions. He liked to do it too. He made no signals, but as he stalked through the thick night the clowns followed him, a pack of hyenas sniffing for blood.

* * *

Gordon didn't question how Batman had been able to get a hold of his cell phone number; he supposed being a costumed vigilante entitled people to certain things.

**"GORDON."**

There was a pause and the Commissioner pressed the phone against his ear to catch every sound.

**"I'VE RECEIVED NOTICIFICATION THAT SWAT HAS BEEN CALLED IN TO AID IN MY CAPTURE."**

Gordon felt his heart drop into the very depths of his stomach, surrounded by beasts who wanted to sink their claws in and tear.

**"THERE IS A HIGH PROBABILITY THAT I WILL BE CAPTURED BY SWAT, OR THE POLICE FORCE OF GOTHAM ITSELF."**Another pause, shorter, he was getting warmed up.

**"IF THAT DOES HAPPEN DO NOT EXPECT ME TO MAKE IT TO YOUR STATION ALIVE. I HAVE BEEN HAILED AS A **_**COP KILLER **_**BY MANY POLICE OFFICERS AND CITIZENS OF GOTHAM. SHOW NO COMPASSION. MY PURPOSE IS TO BRING CHANGE TO GOTHAM. IF IT SO HAPPENDS THAT I DIE FOR IT TO BE ACHIEVED, THEN SO BE IT." **

A deep breath that Gordon could use to argue, or scream. It was released unused into the air. His head felt light with all the unused words cramming into every corner of his mind, filling it with a useless chant: _No, no, no, no._

**"YOU MUST SURVIVE WHEN OTHERS FALL. YOU WILL BE THE HOPE OF GOTHAM."**

A click and the call was ended.


	3. Chapter 3

The world exploded.

Windows blew outwards, crying shards of glass and destructive embers. People stood on the street in shock as those who stood too close to the explosion caught fire and ran through the streets. Twirling in an attempt to put out the fire, clothes catching, skin, hair. A dance to the fire drake jerking as your body turned to ash, people screaming and when screaming felt more like laughing, fell and finally lay smoldering.

The Joker felt the heat of the fire on his face when the roof caved in and the fire jumped out, dancing and gulping greedily for air. The world was full of sirens wailing like grieving mothers and grieving mothers silenced by the sight of the destruction.

He watched the rooftops for any signs of movement. The twirl of a cape or one horn illuminated by the backdrop of flames. Cars pulled up in score, SWAT and GCPD with nothing better to do than try to hunt down the one person who was trying to help them. At the sight of them the Joker deflated. Bats wouldn't push his luck by coming here when capture was the most likely outcome.

The Joker pushed off of the car he had been leaning on and tapped his fingers against the hood. But he might, there was always the possibility. He licked his lips and bounced on the balls of his feet. He had goons spread out all over the area, but he wanted to catch the Bat _himself._

And the best way to catch a bat would be…

A grin crawled across his face and lay there coiled like a snake.

Men were exiting the SWAT cars in full riot armor, toting weapons that the mafia could only dream of. One was slower than the rest, choosing to stand inside of the van's double doors, head bent down looking through a duffle bag. The Joker sauntered closer, knees slightly bent but making no other attempts to hide his presence.

"Excuse me, _Sir.__" _The Joker let the man turn and look. _Really _look. Eyes widening in shock as he put one hand in front of him, trying to stay a feral dog that had already tasted the joys of blood and was hungry for more. The clown swung his hand out in a wide ark, the blade in it glinting and reflecting the beauty of the fire. The blade buried itself in the jugular. There was a small moment of resistance, then release, blood flowed down his hand and blessed the concrete beneath their feet. The man slumped forward, all life gone.

"Shh, shh. It's all right. Don't be _discouraged_. We all feel a little down from time to time." The Joker caught the body and flung him backwards, into the back of the van. Grabbing his legs the lower half soon followed.

He lurked in the shadow of the van and eased himself slowly up to the window. He peered in, a modern Wolf tracking down the Hunter; the keys were in the ignition. All signs of subtlety were gone, licking his lips he got into the drivers seat and turned the key. The body slid to the back of the van and hit the wall violently as he took the roads pell-mell.

No cars followed him.

"I understand your pain." He told the body. Leaning out of the windows and beaming ghoulishly at the cars he passed. "I must admit, I'm feeling a little discouraged myself."He turned in his seat to look at the body, a puddle was forming. "I know what'll cheer you up! You can come _with me_." The Joker tilted his head, listening to the other half of the imaginary conversation. "No, no don't worry. I don't think he'll mind. I'm always telling him he should meet new people."

He glared suddenly. Curling his fists around the wheel as he stared out the front window with dark eyes. "And you people were _oh so excited to meet him_. You don't understand. _The bat is mine._ _**You can't have him**__._" He forced one white knuckled hand to release the wheel and gestured angrily in the air. "The Bat and me… we _understand_ each other. Shit happens and you use any way you can to relieve the pressure. _He _dresses up as a flying rodent with sadistic tendencies. _I _blow up buses and rectories just for a laugh. _You people-_" He angled the rear view window just so, filmy apathetic eyes stared back. "_You people just destroy everything you don't understand. You're worse than us. The only reason is that you're __**scared**__."_

The Joker was quiet for a moment, smacking his lips and trying to decide what else to add to his monologue. He wasn't paying attention to the road and the van listed slightly into the other lane. Someone honked at him.

He put both hands on the wheel.

The van turned suddenly, hitting a car that was attempting to pass the slow-moving van. Sparks flew at the impact. The van jerked in the opposite direction, narrowly missing an oncoming car. It weaved back and forth across the wide city road, hitting and missing, sometimes mounting the curb to chase down pedestrians.

The ants ran and screamed with high tinny voices, only too aware of whom the boy with the magnifying glass was.

* * *

Bruce stood in the Batcave. Ice water doused his brain and rendered his limbs immovable; he stared like a freshly rejuvenated corpse at the TV screen.

**Police Department Up In Flames! **The scrolling bar at the bottom of the screen screamed. Forcing all to look at the aftermath of the destruction. Bodies littered the road, white sheet-ghosts in special salt-circles made of orange cones and flags.

And Bruce knew who did it. The Joker, _who despite all of the trouble Bruce went through leading a double life found out who he was, _broke into his home, _molested him_, and killed what would be hundreds of police officers.

("_I'll slaughter them all, just for you._" _He could hear it faintly, but the one sensation on the forefront of his mind was the Joker's hand around his neck, he pushed up into that neck, trying-) _

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, one of many. It was untraceable and unable to be recalled by the phone a message was sent to. He dialed Gordon's cell number from memory and waited. Three rings. Five. His lungs felt heavy in his chest, weighted down by stones, he could be thrown into the bay and sink with the pure force of guilt.

Finally, someone answered. _"Gordon." _The voice was rough, a side effect of the smoke that spread over downtown like a fog, muffling all sounds of life until everything seemed dead.

Bruce waited. He could hear voices and movement in the background. The frantic motion of ants when they surround their destroyed nest. It was trod over by a man that enjoyed the frenzy, the pain. Really ground his heel in. Bruce hung up the phone without answering.

He wanted to go after the Joker. To punch that smiling face with all the force of a vengeful God and smile over him as he bled. The blood would run over the dry ground, poisoning. The land would have to be set aflame, born anew. A relationship forged by pain. But things weren't that easy anymore. He had to take into account all of the people on the street, set out in the singular goal of finding him.

The phone was put on the counter. Next to curled bits of wire and many sheet metal cut-outs of bats. It had never been easy.

* * *

The Joker rode the van in silence for three blocks. Leaning forward in his seat, staring up at roof tops while cars honked and swerved to avoid being hit. After a while the silence began to remind him of Arkham. Thick stone walls with metal doors, round windows with people staring, always staring. They seemed like strange creatures behind the doors, a glob-like being that rolled from door to door made up of only eyes, happy to stare and judge. But unable to see themselves.

He brought his eyes back to the road and turned the wheel slightly. A semi barreled by, with only room for a playing card held sideways between them. A hand reached out and tapped the knob on the radio. He felt like he was suspended in water, waiting for the Kraken to swim through the dark abyss and swallow him up.

All the voices on the radio were frantic. Hurried. The Joker glared at the little box. He had to pick the only SWAT van that still had a CB radio.

"_SWAT vehicle missing… unresponsive_._" _A number was rattled off with the advisement to pursue if found. The Joker lifted his eye brows and looked at the little number tag on the dash board. The numbers were the same. They were talking about him. Wasn't that nice.

The sudden hiss and crackle of many voices talking over radio. _"Suspect sighted! In pursuit! __**Visual on Rutger and Broad.**__" _Another voice joining the fray, screaming: "_Which one?"_The Joker knew his voices and was positive that that was the mustached Commissioner himself.

_**"The Batman."**_

The van's wheels left twin trails of rubber on the road as he broke away from traffic, turning down a side road. He was grinning, cackling and snapping his teeth at the air like a feral dog. He found the switch that turned on the siren. It cut through the air and marked his descent into Gotham.


	4. Chapter 4

The searchlight was hot on his back. He careened around cars, parked or still mobile. The window of a car he just passed lost a window in a short burst of sound and a scream of glass.

The gunshot wounds were a holy triad of pain in his chest. Burning with each breath, throbbing in response to every adrenaline-kicked beat of his heart. He could feel something slip between the solid weight of the Kevlar and his own chest. The wounds had reopened.

Bullets tore holes through asphalt flinging chunks of it into the air, spinning for one beautiful moment, before crashing to the ground. The dance of destruction. Doors were torn in two with the force behind each shot, the invisible touch of a terrible God long since unamused with the goings-on of his own people, now hell bent on terrorizing the dancing fools at his feet.

He wove through the streets, taking back alleys and flying under monorail tracks, jumping for any attempt to dislodge his flying pursuer when the moment presented itself. Bruce had no idea what he was going to do.

There was nothing else to do other than let himself be chased. There was always the possibility that if the Joker was caught, he would give away Batman's identity as a bargaining chip. He wouldn't let Alfred watch them carry him out of the door in handcuffs, hold him like priced game by the scruff of the neck while all of the reporters swirled and sniffed for blood at their feet like sharks. The flash of each camera would be worse than any firing squad.

A narrow thread of light sliced through the air, curving gently.

The explosion threw Batman off of his bike, tumbling face first onto the shrapnel rattled concrete. The heat on his back was different, alive and curling, born of vengeance and hateful energy. He pushed himself up to his elbows and turned, the pebbles of asphalt that settled on him scattering to the ground, each sound as singular as the opening notes to a sonata.

He held an arm up to his eyes, shielding himself from the light.

The helicopter that chased him loyally for three miles was a twisted heap of metal on the road. The flames illuminated its structure, the black bones that of an ancient dragon killed by knights who never for once considered any natures of the beast other than that to kill and maim.

Police cars were coming over the hill, a swarm of piranha's called by the scent of the blood of their fallen comrades. Bikes shot out of side alleys, cut off the pursuit, forcing a cruiser to pull onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting a biker. The bikes were the bastard children of the originals, cannibalized with bike pats found in junk yards and on the side of the roads.

Bruce stood, stepping over the smoking chunks of the helicopter. Between the corpse of the helicopter, and the two cars it crushed in its descent, the street was completely blocked off at one end.

Officers got out of their cars, crouched behind their open doors and aimed. As Bruce got closer he could see the fear in their eyes, the look of a rabbit just before the. wolf clamped his jaws down on the fragile neck, _twisting_. He was their new Joker. Odd, that they immediately believed in the word of someone deemed _criminally insane_, and made no attempt to try to prove him wrong.

Standing opposite of the officers was the bikers, five of them standing non-chalantly in a war zone, bikes abandoned. Two of them had grenade launchers slung over their back with rope made out of bungee cords, duct tape and a prayer. They were the statues of a warring land, where chains and tattoos were signs of social status, not grounds on which to become a pariah.

Bruce slinked closer, taking note that all of the guns had been pointed away from the bikers and were following him now. _"What are you doing here?"_ He growled at them, his voice a stark reminder of broken bones and dark alleys that magnified every sound and turned a drying sheet into a dark cape. Full of dark eyes that stared down in silent judgment.

They all flinched away. That made him feel better.

They looked at each other, eyes visible through the yellow-tinted goggles they wore. "The boss told us to watch out for you." The one that said it looked particularly pleased, looking around his fellow misfits with a: _Yea, I got balls_, expression on his face.

_"You're the ones that blew the helicopter out of the sky._" It wasn't a question. It was said with the same air as someone who gives a jail sentence, with finality and barely controlled righteous anger.

They couldn't read the look in his eyes or in his posture. They couldn't hear the tick-_tick_-_**tock **_of the doomsday clock as the numbers steadily dropped down to zero. He could hear the minimalistic beat in his brain, counting down the seconds until everything vanished, focused on the sensation of splitting lips, breaking bones.

Bruce grabbed the first one, quick like a python's strike, breaking the delicate bones of the forearm and wrist then pulling the mangled appendage closer to him and breaking his nose.

A SWAT van sped down the hill, the force of its velocity making him jump the five feet of asphalt after its peak completely. It pushed its way through the impromptu barricade the police set up, forcing the bumper-to-bumper cars out of the way with its bulk.

It stopped two inches from Batman's legs.

There was a pause as officers relayed the new occurrence into their radios, and the mischief makers began to grin and crane their necks for any sign of the driver of the van.

The driver's side door opened silently and hung open. A purple pant leg appeared and the rest of the purple body followed. The only difference in the Joker from the day this first started, when the citizens of Gotham hated him but didn't _hate _him, was the odd-fitting Kevlar vest he fitted over his suit top.

He grinned at Bruce but made no attempt to talk to him, his mischief makers were ignored as well. The Joker turned to the officers huddled behind their cars. Bruce got a glimpse into the madness. The Joker became the personification of the boogey-man. Dark eyes that divulged nothing, the eyes of a crocodile that could not explain why he ate the fish and the occasional person only that it was in his nature. His mouth was a dark den of lies, where words were carefully chosen and sewn together to gain the maximum result.

"Greetings, boys and girls of the _Law_." His voice became low, the voice that you hear through the fog as you succumb to blood-loss limbs heavy and immobile. It was dark, full of year's accumulated hate. "_I am very ashamed of you. __**Very ashamed.**__ I warned you about what would happen if you went after the bat. Didn't I?" _He turned around to pin one of his henchmen with that dark stare. "I did, right?" He hardly waited for the confirmation.

"And in doing so, I made a _promise_, a vow, to the _Bat. And I hate to go back on my word." _Getting fear was great, it was fine!, but he wanted the blood.

The grenade launches were raised in eerie synchronation.

Bruce tried to make his way through the line, knock their weapons onto the ground and show them how much fun a maniac in war paint really could be. He felt the satisfying give of ribs beneath his fist-

Too many explosions, too many deaths.

The cars went up in flames, their drivers jittering puppets moved by instinct rather than a real will to live. No one in the houses and apartments on either side of the street moved.

So many bones to break, concussions to give.

When all of the henchmen laid out on the road like a vagabond's traveling hospital, he advanced on the Joker. The Joker stared back with eyes full of destructive happiness, the type of person who watches burning homes with a smile on his face, and no spared thought to the people who may be inside.

His fist broke that smiling lip and Bruce watched each individual drop of blood slide down the Jokers pale chin. He used props in this terrible play to inflict more destruction, a car to knock a head into a wall to be thrown into.

_"Do you realize what you've done?"_ Batman normally didn't contain this amount of anger. But the Joker had a way about bringing out certain things in him. He tried to summarize all of the abstract feelings, utter hopelessness, dejection, and fear at being caught. Fear of Alfred being caught. He tried to morph them into one cohesive sentence.

The Joker blinked up at him. One green eye obscured by a veil of dark blood. He looked like a sacrifice to a dark God, supple and complacent in a world overrun by Chaos. "What are you talking about?" His brows were brought down low over his eyes in his characteristic show of confusion. "Is it about them_?" _He gestured with one pale hand towards the smoking remains of the helicopter and the cars that littered the road. "Don't worry about _them_. You're the Batman. They'll always come back to you when the mob starts to move in, or a misunderstood _madman _starts to chop up little children in his basement. This hasn't changed anything." He grinned and tried to catch a floating ember in his had. "Though it has made things much more interesting, I must admit."

_"How?"_

The Joker cracked his neck and tried to get comfortable. When he looked up at Bruce, the playfulness was gone. In its place were dark eyes full of slick oil and skeletal creatures with wide luminescent eyes crawling beneath the surface. His grin grew wide, distorted, like a sharks. "You**. **You'll never trust them again after this will you? Able to take the word of a madman so easily and swallow it whole. While the innocent man waits, chained to the jailhouse wall, unable to say a single word in his defense." He cackled with the pure delight of it, howling at the sky like a wolf.

Bruce was silent. It was true. Trust didn't come easily, and now that it had been breached so, it would become neigh unattainable.

Arms curled themselves around his neck, each as sinister as a python. "I love you Brucie. But I love you even more when you're in pain." The words were murmured against his lips, softly, like they were spoken to an adoring lover and not the man who had been forcing the blood from his body to bless the air.

"Someday." The red-and-blue combination of strobe lights came closer. The Joker's hands slipped down his neck to grip his shoulder blades with white-knuckled force. "Someday you'll leave this city to die. And you'll come to me. Because in the end; only those who want to kill each other are loyal."

"That's not true."

The Joker shook his head, a teacher surprised by the bounds of a student's stupidity. "Yes it is. Because you and me have a connection_._ We represent the darker side of Gotham. When your father gets shot and blood sprinkles your face like holy water, you're _changed._ The world seems darker, grittier, ash falls from the sky even on a good day and sometimes you hear voices that aren't there. I get it too!" He leaned close, as if confiding something. "I'm the only person that understands you Bats. And I'll always be here. Waiting for you."


End file.
